Tore Down House
by michael t
Summary: Episode 14 of the Trick Chronicles, in which it hits the fan.
1. Default Chapter

Suggested listening:  
  
"Cheap and Evil Girl" by Bree Sharp   
"Occam's Razor" by Adam Again  
"Hopeless, Etc." by Adam Again  
Tore Down House  
  
By  
  
Michael Walker  
  
The clock radio's digital display flashed from 6:59 to 7:00 am. The radio came alive; the opening chords of the Who's 'Baba O'Riley' rattled its small speaker. The twisted mass of bedclothes heaved; an arm snaked out from underneath the pile and groped for the snooze button. It took three tries, but finally a random swing connected with the button. The music cut off abruptly.  
  
Xander poked his head out of the covers and tried to focus his bleary gaze on the clock. He racked his brain, trying to understand why he was so exhausted. He rolled over on his back. Okay, priorities changed. Why he was so tired slipped to number two. Number one was trying to figure out why he was sleeping naked.  
  
That's when the fragments of memory began to bob to the surface of the thick stew sloshing around in his head. At first, it was random sense memories-- the feel of a long leg against his thigh, the dancing tickle of a dark curtain of hair dragged across his chest, the feel of warm lips on his-  
  
"Oh man," he gasped, and struggled to a sitting position. He reached down and groped on the floor, trying to find some pants, a pair of boxers, anything. His fingers closed around a garment. He picked it up, raising it to eye level. Dangling from his fingers was a small black thong.  
  
"Oh boy," he groaned. "I'm in trouble."  
  
***  
  
Buffy groaned and tried to force her eyes open when the alarm sounded, but fatigue proved a more indomitable foe than vampires or demons. She slumped back on the bed, hand flailing in a listless attempt to push her hair out of her face.  
  
More sleep... that was the answer. She had to start getting to bed at a decent hour. Maybe the vamps and demons could bump their schedules up a few hours. The Slayer groaned and rolled off the bed, landing on her floor with a thud.  
  
"Honey, are you all right?" Joyce asked from the doorway.  
  
"Hmm? Uh, yeah Mom, yeah, be fine." Buffy rolled over on all fours and groped for her robe. "Up late last night fighting evil."  
  
"I really wish you wouldn't joke about it like that," Joyce said. "Oatmeal okay for breakfast?"  
  
"Yeah." Buffy staggered to her feet. "Just soak it in coffee first."  
  
***  
  
Xander tried to tamp down a rising tide of interior panic. School was two blocks away. Xander Harris had faced the undead, the demonic, the bizarre, the enchanted, and the uncanny. He was certain that he had never been in as much peril as he was today.  
  
He winced as he shifted his backpack. Something was wrong with his ribs-pulled muscle or torn cartilage or some souvenir of last night. He was surprised it was his only injury, if his memory was reliable. A flush crept into his cheeks. Part of him was mortified because, after all, he was dating Cordelia and there was the whole concept of fidelity but on the other hand... there were lots of other, less-memorable ways to injure a rib.  
  
The foot traffic was thicker as he approached Sunnydale High. Just before he reached the steps he spied Buffy weaving through the crowd. He waited for her to reach him. She wore a pink sweater and big round sunglasses.  
  
"Hey, Buff, what's the word?" Was his voice a little too high-pitched? A little too fast? He had to cover. "Love the shades. Very Robert Evans."  
  
Buffy tipped the glasses down and looked at him over the tops of the lenses. Her reason for the eyewear was apparent; her eyes matched her sweater. She squinted in the harsh light. "Why are you so chipper this morning?"  
  
"What? Me?" He shrugged and shook his head at the same time. "I'm no different than... I usually am. I'm the same guy. Same ol' Xander, that's me." He stretched out an open hand. "What about you? Those don't look like the eyes of an early to bed and early to rise Buffy to me."  
  
"I was out late," she said then, noticing his look, continued, "Gathering information."  
  
"Oh, good," he said. "Important information?"  
  
Buffy pushed her shades back into position. "Maybe. I'll share later. When my brain's working."  
  
***  
  
Othniel Hampton perched on a catwalk high above the floor of the deserted factory. His left hand grasped his right wrist; his forearms rested on his knees. His eyes stared at something a thousand miles away.  
  
"You called for me?"  
  
Hampton slowly turned his head to look at Coyne. The trusted lieutenant stood on the catwalk, his hands gripping the rails until the knuckles were even whiter than usual. He kept glancing down through the steel mesh toward the stained concrete some twenty feet below.  
  
"Sit." The metal rang as Hampton tapped it with one hard, ridged nail. Coyne lowered himself gingerly into a sitting position. Hampton looked out over the cavernous space. His face was blank and somehow oddly serene. Coyne shifted his weight in an attempt to flex an ankle. Hampton sighed and turned.  
  
"You were right," the Reverend said. "I allowed my zeal to overwhelm me. In my eagerness to punish the transgressor I endangered those in my own care. I owe you my thanks."  
  
Coyne managed an awkward shrug. "I didn't mean to question your authority."  
  
"No, I'm sure you didn't." Something in Hampton's voice sent a shiver racing along Coyne's spine. "But you opened my eyes to my own folly. He would never respond-he is a coward who would sacrifice his every follower and never leave his fortress. He has no honor. He will never fight like a true warrior."  
  
Coyne kept his moth shut. He didn't think this was the best time to offer his opinion of Mr. Trick-namely that the Armani-wearing vampire was one tough sonofabitch who wasn't going to get dragged into a pissing contest. He was ensconced in a relatively impregnable position and had thus far suffered acceptable losses, at least from Hampton's crew. The Slayer was another matter. Coyne had heard, from sources he considered trustworthy, that the second Slayer, the one whose Watcher had been killed, had wreaked hell on Trick's retinue. Somehow, Coyne believed that Trick had not expected that outcome. During the brief period when their forces had worked together Coyne had seen a lot of agitation in Trick's camp.  
  
But then came the business at Christmas. Coyne hadn't been privy to the whole story, but then no one was taken into Hampton's full confidence. Coyne was kind of glad of that. He wasn't sure he wanted to actually know what went through the deranged Reverend's mind. Still, he knew bits and pieces. Hampton had been agitated at the approaching holiday, but that wasn't unusual. His life's occupation weighed heavily upon him as December 25th drew near. This had been different. Something had driven him into a fury. Through rumor and observation Coyne had developed a sketchy picture of what went down. It involved one of the Others and Trick's apparent lack of respect toward her.  
  
"He will never fight like a true warrior." Hampton was in his weird place-focused but halfway to Pluto at the same time. It was a look that one of his old parishioner's might have recognized, a state that the Reverend would enter in the middle of a sermon, when the ecstatic flow of his own rhetoric would lift him up and transport him away even as he spoke to them. "But that does not mean that he cannot be touched. We will waste no more time in trying to draw him into honorable battle." The Reverend turned to his loyal minion and his smile was grim. "We will take the thing he values most."  
  
***  
  
Xander looked around nervously as he made his way down the hall. Third period already and so far he'd avoided Cordelia. That was good, wasn't it?  
  
"Good God, did you see what's Laura Black's wearing?"  
  
He jumped and almost dropped his books. A few seconds of quick juggling kept them from hitting the floor but left him clutching them to his chest like a frightened seventh-grader on the first day of school.  
  
Cordelia stared at him for a moment. "Are you just, like, completely mental today?" Her eyebrows arched, then his spastic behavior was forgotten. "I mean, honestly, was there a giant Square Pegs reunion and I missed it?"  
  
"What? Oh, uh, Square Pegs, yeah. Great show. Whatever happened to that girl with the braces? You know, I heard she had to wear a fat suit." Xander clamped his jaws shut before his babbling reached critical mass.  
  
Cordelia paused, lipstick in hand halfway to her mouth. "I don't know. What's your flakeage?"  
  
"Me? I'm fine." Xander laughed maniacally. "So, how did the studying go last night?"  
  
Cordelia finished applying her lipstick. "What? Oh, it was calculus. Doesn't that say it all?" She rolled her eyes. "Wait a minute. I know what's going on."  
  
"You do?" Xander's voice climbed an octave on the last word.  
  
"Yes. It's as obvious as the nose on Harmony's face. Reyna wants the spring formal to have a Big '80's theme. That's why Laura's dressed like a refugee from Legwarmers'r'Us." She shook her head. "Some people."  
  
"Yeah," Xander said. "Some people." 


	2. chapter 2

Mr. Trick's fingers danced over the surface of the black lacquered box. Each fingertip met its reflection for the briefest instant. His touch was so light and sure that the onyx wood was free of any smudges. He looked up without missing a beat and saw Quisling and Delilah staring at him. He executed a tricky roll that ended with his thumb tapping the box.  
  
"Sorry," he said. "Took a mental vacation day there. Report."  
  
Delilah consulted her handheld computer. "We have a definite lock. The object has been located and identified."  
  
Trick nodded then looked at Quisling.  
  
"The teams have been dispatched," Quisling said.  
  
"Which location?" Trick asked.  
  
"Village in Iraq," Delilah replied. "Sir, I..." She hesitated.  
  
"Go ahead," Trick said, his voice sounding unusually mellow.  
  
"It's just... This thing is four thousand years old. It's been missing for over three-quarters of that time. We find it, intact, in some backwater in Iraq. Doesn't that seem, I don't know..." Delilah searched for words. "Serendipitous?"  
  
Trick inhaled, nostrils flaring. "Mr. Quisling?"  
  
"Yes sir." He turned to Delilah. "It's important to realize that objects like this, they do not disappear easily. This is not like a misplaced sock or a set of keys fallen behind the couch cushions. By this time, it's possible that the seal is not even a completely material object any more." Delilah frowned and Quisling shrugged. "I doubt if could be destroyed by any physical means."  
  
Delilah pursed her lips. "Solomon knew that would happen. That's why there's a ritual to unmake it."  
  
"More likely he was afraid his son might be an asshole who wouldn't know what to do with it." Mr. Trick's smile was thin and sardonic. "Everything is on schedule?" The question was directed at Mr. Quisling.  
  
"Yes sir," Quisling said. "The seal should be extracted in forty-eight to seventy-two hours. We will be contacted when it has left Iraq."  
  
Trick shook his head. "That's the scary part right there. Damn, I hate doing business in the Middle East. Too many just plain crazy people over there."  
  
Quisling cleared his throat. "Should I notify the Mayor?"  
  
A who-cares expression passed across Trick's face. "Sure. Go to his office and put on a little dog-and-pony show. Make him feel good about his investment."  
  
"What about the ritual?" Delilah asked.  
  
Trick sighed deeply. "There's no need to mention that fly in the ointment just yet. The heavy lifting is done."  
  
Delilah looked skeptical. "We still don't have a final copy. There are numerous anomalies specific to it. We can't fill in the gaps with material from other similar rituals, because it isn't like any of them. I'm sorry, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I fail to see how this isn't a major obstacle."  
  
Trick smiled. "Because we're not going to worry about translating it." He picked up a sheaf of papers from his desk. "Check the contract. We are to find the artifact and deliver it to the Mayor. We are under no legal obligation to tell him how to use it or remove any impediments to its use." He dropped the document. "We'll turn over what we do know about it and then take our money."  
  
"Do you think that will work?" Delilah asked.  
  
Trick shrugged. "What's he going to do, run tell on us?"  
  
"He might refuse to pay us."  
  
Trick's smile was cold and lizardlike. "I can guarantee you that that will not be a problem." He turned to Quisling. "Give him a sit-rep this afternoon. Tell him we're almost there.  
  
"Tell him to start cutting the check."  
  
***  
  
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry." Matti Hollis crossed her arms as she leaned over the counter.  
  
"About what?" Giles' face looked pinched as he rubbed his forehead with the fingers of his left hand.  
  
"I'm sorry you had to hear about Gerard from us, but the schadenfreude is awfully thick right now. A lot of people who think the Watchers are pretty arrogant find this whole thing highly... satisfying." She shrugged. "They're talking... a lot."  
  
"I hope they find it highly amusing."  
  
"They are, but there's more." Matti looked at Giles, her handsome face still and sad. "This is not just the Watcher's Council stubbing its toe. This sounds more like a full-scale meltdown."  
  
"Excuse me?" Giles frowned.  
  
"Like some sort of purge or pogrom. Mr. Giles, there are stories about dead Watchers all over the world, and a persistent belief that they died at the hands of other Watchers."  
  
"That's impossible." Giles turned away and reached for a book on a high shelf. "I would have heard."  
  
Matti Hollis took a deep breath and let it out with a sighing sound. "It's time to face the truth, Mr. Giles. Before it dope slaps the back of your head."  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"You haven't been told because you're on the wrong side. Come on, man. Gerard's your closest friend in the Watchers and he's gone fugue. Didn't it ever cross your mind that you might be next? Did the other night catch you completely by surprise?"  
  
Giles stiffened. "I think you're being presumptuous."  
  
"And I think you're being willfully stupid." Matti slapped the counter and the crack echoed through the library. "This is bad, and you're in danger. And not from some weird demons. You're in trouble with your own kind. Face it, Mr. Giles. The Watcher's Council as you knew it probably doesn't exist any more." Her lips pursed. "And if you're in danger, that means the Slayer is, too."  
  
***  
  
Robert Woo lay motionless in the hard steel bunk and felt the throb of the ship's engines, the susurration of the ocean slipping past the hull, the smack of the bow pushing through the waves. He rocked slightly with the motion of the ship but the sensation was quite pleasant. The rhythmic sameness helped him keep his mind flat and open.  
  
He did not know if they were looking for him. It would be quite simple to divine the answer through magical means, but if they were searching for him, such an act would serve as a beacon to draw them to him. No, it would be best to assume that they pursued him and act accordingly.  
  
He would slip away from the ship when it docked in Mumbai. He would contact certain... comrades for assistance. Woo continued to rehearse his plans. In life as in magic and the martial arts, repetition was the doorway to mastery. Each move must be without thought, the body moving of its own accord through a series of familiar actions, leaving the mind free to assess and deal with the unanticipated.  
  
And Robert Woo had no doubt that there would be many surprises ahead of him.  
  
***  
  
"Why are you so jumpy?" Cordelia demanded.  
  
"Me? Jumpy?" Xander felt his eye twitch. "What makes you say that?"  
  
"Please." Cordelia waved at a passing girl. "You're twitching like Joe Cocker with a rash."  
  
"Just, uh, just had too much coffee, I guess." Even Xander could hear the edge in his voice. Cordelia looked at him. Her eyes narrowed and her lips drew together. "What?" he asked, trying to smother a maniacal giggle.  
  
"Stop it," she said. "Try drinking juice or something. This is creepy." She turned toward her locker. "Even for you."  
  
***  
  
Mr. Quisling held out a hand, palm up. "We assure you that we have found the seal and are only a few days from extracting it and beginning the process of shipping it to Sunnydale. Then it is at most a few weeks until it is in your possession."  
  
"A few weeks?" The Mayor frowned. "That seems like an terribly long time."  
  
"Sir, we do not use UPS or FedEx. Special precautions must be taken with items of this nature."  
  
"What kind of precautions?"  
  
Mr. Quisling pasted a smile on his face. "The item must be extracted. A sanitation team must take it and deliver it to the transport team. Then the transport team must bring it here by the most secure means possible."  
  
"That seems like an awful lot of trouble."  
  
"Believe me, sir. We have done this many times. We are professionals. This is the best way." Quisling made a great show of considering his options. "Unless you prefer that we simply drop it in an airmail envelope addressed to you. I suppose we could do that."  
  
The Mayor's eyes tightened as he looked at Quisling. "No, I don't think so. Now, what's this I've heard about a curse?"  
  
Quisling shrugged every so slightly. "More of a ceremony, actually."  
  
"Well, what sort of ceremony is it?"  
  
"It seems Solomon provided for the unmaking of the Seal. Quite brilliant, actually."  
  
"Wait a minute. You mean I might get Seal, and then someone do some mumbo-jumbo and leave me high and dry?"  
  
"I doubt that." Quisling adopted his most reassuring tone. "There is no complete copy extant and from our research, it would appear that the ritual has been, for all intents and purposes, lost."  
  
The Mayor lifted an eyebrow. "You're sure about that?"  
  
"Sir, we will turn over all relevant materials that we have in-hand when we transfer the Seal to you."  
  
The Mayor raised a hand. "That's not answering my question."  
  
Quisling took a moment. "Sir, our contract specifically states that we will locate the Seal, transport it to Sunnydale, and deliver it to you. We are under no binding obligation concerning any other matters."  
  
"So you're going to leave me with this thing hanging over my head." The Mayor sounded incredulous.  
  
"Not at all. As I stated, we will make sure that you have any and all information in our possession at the time of transfer. You will know all that we know."  
  
The Mayor squinted. "I don't like it. I don't like it one bit."  
  
Quisling assumed his most sympathetic posture. "I don't blame you at all, sir." 


	3. chapter 3

"He wasn't happy." Quisling flicked a speck of lint from the cuff of his suit jacket.  
  
"I didn't expect him to be," Trick replied, his concentration centered on the golf ball before him. He brought the putter back smoothly and tapped the ball. It bumped and rolled along the carpet and came to rest on the lip of the green plastic ball return against the far wall. Trick grimaced. "Damn, I miss golf," he sighed.  
  
"Really?" Quisling asked.  
  
"Hell, no," Trick said. "A brother like golf?" He shrugged. "Loved the clothes, though." Quisling frowned and Trick cracked up. "Too easy. You fell for the Negro-loves-loud-clothes bit, didn't you?"  
  
Quisling looked sheepish. "I'm afraid so."  
  
"It's fool-proof." Trick's smile vanished like water on a hot skillet. "The Mayor isn't our problem, Quisling. He drew up the contract, he signed it. We fulfilled it. That's the limit of our liability." He shook his head. "And then we'll be out of this shithole town forever."  
  
"You sound eager," Quisling observed.  
  
"Hell, yes, I'm eager," Trick snapped, although in a smooth way. "Let's just say this one goes in the 'learning experience' file. Quicker I get away from this place with its Slayers and that inbred hillbilly across town the better." He shook his head. "See, that's the downside to this gig, Quisling. Why vampires gotta be so territorial and shit? If we work together, everybody can have their piece of the pie. Humans have NASCAR and ice skating. It's not one or the other. But not vampires. Everybody's gotta be a stiff-necked motherfucker about every damn thing." He stopped and took a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm looking forward to getting out of Sunnydale."  
  
The Mayor exercised great care in placing his glass back on the desk blotter. This was very important, because his every impulse was to hurl it against the wall and watch it explode in thousands of glittering shards. He wiped his mouth with his hand, a gesture that morphed into gnawing at his knuckles.  
  
The door opened and Florestan stepped into the room. "You wanted to see me?"  
  
"Yes." The Mayor indicated one of the visitors' chairs. "Please have a seat."  
  
Florestan sat down, then leaned forward and tweaked the crease on a trouser leg. He sat back and waited. The Mayor spread his hands on his desk, his mouth working. Florestan waited patiently, right leg crossed over left. The Mayor took a deep breath.  
  
"The bastard double-crossed me," he said, his voice a harsh rasp.  
  
Florestan's eyebrows drew together. "Explain." Mayor related the latest news from Quisling. When His Honor finished, Florestan sat back and tilted his head up to look at the ceiling.  
  
"Well?" The strain in the Mayor's voice was showing. "Are you just going to sit there? Do you realize what this means? We're in a world of hurt. If the Seal--" He controlled his rising voice with visible effort. "If the Seal," he continued in a more normal tone, "if the Seal can be destroyed, then it's of no use to us. We are in a very compromised situation here."  
  
Florestan lowered his eyes. "Then now is not the time to panic." He pushed himself up from the chair and turned toward the door. "Trick will not leave. He will remain in Sunnydale and we will decipher this rite."  
  
"How can you be so sure?" the Mayor demanded.  
  
Florestan turned, his hand on the doorknob. "I can't tell you that. Plausible deniability is the first lesson of politics." One corner of his mouth twitched as he went out.  
  
"Earth to Giles. Hellooooo, Earth to Giles." Buffy rapped on the table. The librarian twitched and blinked.  
  
"Sorry. Um, I seem to be a bit distracted."  
  
"No, you're not." Buffy crossed her arms. "A bit distracted I can handle because, well, because that's you. This is a lot distracted. What gives?"  
  
"Well, I really... Events have been set in motion..." Giles grimaced as his voice trailed away. "I have a great deal on my mind."  
  
"And the rest of us don't? Full of yourself, much?" Buffy frowned at her Watcher. "You have to shape up. Do you know how wrong it is for me to have to say that to you?"  
  
The librarian felt his face grow hot. Something rose inside him; he wanted to grab the girl by her shoulders and shake her hard, shout in her face that she could never understand what was happening. He wanted to scream, to run, to lie down and sleep forever.  
  
He took a deep breath. "Sorry. What were you saying?"  
  
Coyne tilted his head to one side and stared at the stranger. The guy just stood there, hands in his pockets, looking calm and a little bored. Coyne decided the guy was either clueless or crazy. Either way, he had made a biiiiiiig mistake.  
  
"So," the guy said. "Where is he?"  
  
A big, lopsided grin spread over Coyne's mug. "Who do you think you are to come in here and start talking about seeing people?" he said, sidling up to the stranger and puffing out a belligerent chest.  
  
The stranger leaned forward, hands still in pockets, until he was almost nose to nose with Coyne. "I'm someone who is going to see him right now." He locked gazes with Coyne, who swallowed and took a step back.  
  
"Let me see," said the vampire. "Let me see where he is."  
  
Matti Hollis slipped through the library doors. "Mr. Giles?"  
  
The librarian appeared at the door of his office. "Yes?" They stared at one another for an uncomfortable span of time before Matti gestured with one hand.  
  
"Can I come in?" she asked.  
  
"What? Oh, yes, of course. Forgive me." Giles stepped back. "I'm not quite myself this afternoon."  
  
"I can imagine." Ms. Hollis squeezed into the small space. Giles was uncomfortably aware of how close she seemed and how small the room had become. Matti leaned against the wall. She wore a sky-blue T-shirt with a gray Nike swoosh on it, navy blue track pants with a gray stripe up the side and complicated running shoes of nylon mesh and nubuck. She looked down at the floor then up at Giles. "I'm really sorry about this, Mr. Giles. I mean, not just that I have to tell you this, but the news itself. I'm just... really, really sorry."  
  
Giles felt his stomach drop away. He clasped his hands on the desk to keep them from trembling. "I understand. What do you know?"  
  
Matti ran a hand through her hair. "Gerard Roland's whereabouts are still unknown. We have confirmed that at least seventeen Watchers are dead. Another fourteen are missing."  
  
"How certain are you of these facts?" Giles asked, struggling to keep the tremor from his voice.  
  
"Extremely. We've obtained multiple sources, multiple confirmations. The data is accurate."  
  
"My God," Giles breathed.  
  
"What we suspected is now fact. The Watchers Council is engaged in some sort of internecine struggle that has turned deadly. The new de facto leader of the Council seems to be a man named Desmond Kirkland." Giles uttered an audible groan. Matti's eyes narrowed. "Did I hit a nerve there?"  
  
"I'm afraid so," Giles said. "I barely remember him... he was behind me in training." Giles took a deep, heavy breath. "I received a package from Gerard. It--"  
  
"What? You got a what?" Hollis pushed away from the wall.  
  
The Watcher held up his hand. "Please. I received a package from Gerard. When he visited some months ago, he shared a suspicion with me. This package contained documents that confirmed that supposition. I have examined them, albeit in a cursory fashion."  
  
"Mr. Giles, get to the point. What did they say?"  
  
"Ms. Hollis." Giles closed his eyes and scrubbed his face with his palms. "You will have to forgive me my convoluted ramblings, but this is the only way in which I can approach this subject. To do otherwise is simply too painful." He dropped his hands and blinked twice. "The documents prove that Desmond Kirkland manipulated the ritus adlego."  
  
Matti Hollis crouched beside the desk, bringing her face level with the librarian's. "Mr. Giles, I'm not trying to be a smartass here, but I don't get it."  
  
"The ritus adlego is the rite of selection, whereby a Watcher is chosen. Whenever a Slayer is called, a Watcher must be assigned to her. The purpose of the ritus adlego is to correctly match the two."  
  
"And to screw with it is...?"  
  
"I can think of no worse act. It... it strikes at the very heart of what it means to be a Watcher. It undermines everything we stand for."  
  
Matti stood and touched a thumb to her lower lip. "But why would he even want to do that?"  
  
Giles shook his head. "I don't know, but I'm now certain that Lindsay Maeda was not Faith's intended Watcher. She was too young, too inexperienced."  
  
Matti glanced out into the library. "What's your schedule look like this afternoon?"  
  
"I'm supposed to meet with Buffy and the others. Why?"  
  
"Tell you what, I'm going to be around. You may not see me, but I'll have your back."  
  
Giles stood up as Matti walked out the door. "You think that's necessary?"  
  
She turned back to face him. "I may be wrong, but I'm starting to get an ugly feeling about this whole thing. I'm wondering if this isn't all about trying to get rid of you." 


	4. Chapter 4

"Willow can tell us what went on. I mean, how many meetings have we been to at the library. I can predict exactly what will happen. Giles will say, 'There appears to be something terribly wrong.' Buffy will say, 'What?' Giles will say, 'The world's about to end.' Will says, 'Let's research that.' Then Oz say something no one understand and we split up. I don't see why we have to actually go."

Cordelia drew back and looked at Xander. "Do you have a fever? You are acting, like, so weird today. Even for you." She turned to her locker, then swung back to him. "You haven't started hanging out with those guys who get high behind the cafeteria, have you?"

"No," Xander said. "I just think we spend too much time in meetings. We're too passive; we should be out there taking action."

Cordelia studied him for a long time. "What were you doing last night?"

"What?" Xander gulped.

Cordelia brushed a speck of lint from her plaid skirt. "Did you stay up late watching those crazy movies from China? You know, the ones with the kung fu and the ghosts and stuff?"

"No, no. I just, uh, I think we could skip the library."

Cordelia closed her locker and tossed her head so that her hair swung in a wide arc. "Not on your life. I had to leave the last little pow-wow early because of the game and I got the stinkeye like you wouldn't believe from Giles. I'll be there front and center." She gave Xander her no-nonsense look. "Nobody implies that I'm a slacker."

"Yeah," Xander muttered as he watched her walk away. "God forbid we take the easy way out."

"What's going on?"

Coyne shrugged. "I don't know."

"They been in there an awful long time." The vampire glanced toward the office where the Reverend and the stranger were sequestered. The rest of the gang milled around the floor of the former factory, all of them looking disinterested, looking very disinterested indeed. Their disinterest was so high it was palpable. Coyne squeezed the vampire's shoulder.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure it's cool. The boss let him right in." Coyne shrugged. "Maybe this has something to do with his new plan."

"Maybe," the vampire agreed, nodding. "Still, that guy gave me the creeps."

Coyne slapped him on the arm. "Get used to it. We don't deal with Girl Scouts around here. At least not when we're full."

The Scoobies straggled into the library as school ended and their fellow students rushed out into the California sun. Many glances were cast around the room as they settled into chairs.

"Where's Giles?" Oz asked. Shrugs and more looking around greeted his question. As they continued to ponder whether Giles might be hiding in the stacks the doors swung open and Faith entered, backpack slung over one shoulder and bouncing off her hip.

"Hey, kids," she said as she slid into a chair. "I late?"

"No," Buffy muttered. "We haven't started yet. Giles isn't here."

"Well, you better believe I'm gonna bust his chops for that," Faith said, propping one foot on the table. She looked around the table. "So, what's up? We just sit here until the big G decides to show?"

"I… I guess so," Willow said, looking over her shoulder.

"God, that sounds wicked dull," Faith said. She sat up and leaned forward. "Hey, I know. How about Truth or Dare?"

"Sure, if we're at a seventh-grade sleepover." Cordelia flipped open her compact mirror to touch up her lipstick.

Faith shrugged. "Fine. Hey, let me tell you about me and Xander last night."

"Was that you?" Willow asked, leaning over the table toward Xander.

"Something… uh, air, went down… wrong," he stammered.

"Are you okay?" Buffy said. "You're sweating like crazy."

"I,uh… I…" Xander was gasping.

"Probably still winded from last night," Faith said. "We had a bitch of a patrol."

"Wh-? Yeah, she's right," Xander said.

"This vamp ran me into a tree a couple of times." Faith looked directly at Xander. "You oughta see the marks on my back."

Xander gulped, but at that moment the doors opened and Giles entered. He sat down at the head of the table and ran his hands through his hair. It looked as though he'd done that at least a hundred times during the day. He looked at Buffy.

"I apologize for my tardiness," the Watcher said. "I've often scolded all of you for the same thing."

"It's okay. It humanizes you," Oz deadpanned.

"Thank you." Giles inclined his head in the werewolf's direction.

"So," Willow chirped, "what about the Seal?"

"Wh-what?" Giles stuttered.

Willow shrugged, her eyes wide. "The Seal. The research division of the Council must be working on it. Have they sent us any information, anything solid we can use?"

Giles shifted in his chair. Buffy noticed how Oz blinked and shook his head. The librarian took off his glasses and chewed on an earpiece. "Actually, I haven't heard from the Council. Time, however, may be short-"

"Hey, there's a news flash," Faith said.

"—and it's probably best if we proceed on our own."

"Yeah," Willow said. "We can always use whatever they send us later."

"If it gets here in time." Cordelia kept her eyes on the nail she was filing. "Stuffy old bunch of British geezers, probably have to take a tea break every fifteen minutes."

"The Watchers Council… There are Watchers all… all over the world. They are not a bunch of British geezers. Some of the finest minds on this planet belong to the Council." The vehemence of Giles' outburst drew every eye to him. Even Cordelia stopped filing and stared.

"Okay," Buffy said slowly. "Then let's let the Watchers work on their own and we'll handle things on this end." She looked at Giles for a beat before turning to Willow. "What do you have?"

Willow pulled a legal pad out of her backpack. "Well," she began, glancing at Giles, "we didn't get as much done here last night as I'd hoped, but I did glean some stuff off the net. First, there's a plant called Solomon's- seal. Genus is polygonatum-"

"We're not looking for a plant," Cordelia pointed out.

Willow nodded rapidly. "Maybe not, but the plant has had magical uses for hundreds of years and I just don't think we can rule out anything yet." She took a breath. "Okay, moving on. Solomon's seal also refers to the star of David. You know, the six-pointed star." The redhead flapped her hands in excitement. "The two equilateral triangles are the basis for the geometric figure called Solomon's Seal or Solomon's Square."

"Okay, we've gone from magic to botany to math. That can't be good." Cordelia resumed filing.

"No, no, I think it's all connected." Willow held out a hand in a 'stop' gesture. "Stay with me." She glanced down at her notes. "The symmetry of the two triangles and the six-pointed star they form is the basis for the Seal." Her voice rose in excitement. "Apparently part of the Seal's power lies in its mathematical perfection."

"Great," Buffy muttered. "It would be math."

"What does any of this do for us anyway?" Cordelia asked. "It doesn't tell us where it is or what to do about it."

Willow shook her head. "We won't be able to find it. It's somewhere in the Middle East or somewhere over there. But if we can understand it, maybe we can figure out how destroy it or neutralize it." Silence settled over the table as the full import of her words sank in. The Seal would come to Sunnydale.

Buffy tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. "Giles, Xander, feel free to jump in." She noticed Xander jumped exactly the way he did when he wasn't paying attention in class. Giles stared at the table and tapped a finger against his lips. When he spoke he directed his comments at Willow.

"You believe that this mathematical quality is important?"

Willow nodded with enthusiasm. "I think it's at the heart of the Seal. I think that's why it's so powerful. Numbers and their relationships can have great power. Some believe that a sequence of numbers exists which explains the universe." She bit her lip, looking for the right words. "The Seal's symmetry is an manifestation of its purpose and power. It's a pure expression of the nature of the cosmos. That's part of the problem." She flopped back in her chair.

"Problem. I heard the word problem." Xander finally snapped out of his trance.

Willow riffled the pages of her pad. "Something this powerful, it shouldn't just be out there. There have to be some sort of instructions or a ceremony for passing it along. That's what I'm concentrating on."

"Okay, good work, Will. Sounds like you got a lot accomplished." Buffy gave her a thumbs-up.

The redhead blushed with satisfaction. "Oz helped."

Buffy folded her hands. "I talked to Angel. He said the docks and the airport were quiet last night, and that there's no particular buzz about anything big in the works. All the uglies in town are talking about what's going on between Trick and the Reverend. What we saw the other night wasn't a fluke." Buffy glanced at Faith, who shrugged and tilted her head back to look at the ceiling, then looked down and smiled in the direction of Xander and Cordelia. The blond Slayer frowned and continued. "There's definitely a war between them, or according to Angel, there's a war by the Reverend on Trick."

"Won't that help us?" Oz asked. "Draw his attention away?"

"Angel says don't count on it. Trick appears to be one focused vampire." Buffy shrugged. "Giles?"

The Watcher contemplated his folded hands. "It seems that our major task now is to make sure that the vampire forces do not inflict collateral damage on the community." He looked up. "Willow… and I will continue to research the Seal."

"So can we go?" Cordelia slipped the file into her manicure kit and dropped it into her purse.

Giles nodded. "Yes, that's all."

"Okay," Faith said, "I am outta here." She pushed her chair back and headed for the library door. She had crossed half the distance when she stopped and spoke over her shoulder. "Oh, by the way, Xander, if you find my underwear, could you give it back? I'm feeling a little breezy down there." She winked, turned, and left the room. A beat of complete, dreadful silence filled the room, then everyone turned toward Xander. He flushed scarlet and turned toward Cordelia.

Xander could have sworn that he saw Faith's words leave her mouth and float across the room, little verbal bombs headed for the table, small wordy bullets that carried death with them. He felt a strange detachment. This could not be happening, no, it couldn't. In slow motion, he watched Cordelia turn to him, the blood draining from her face as Faith's words tore into her and an impossible pain filled her eyes.

Buffy turned toward Faith, but the library door was already swinging closed. A harsh scraping noise ripped the air. The Slayer turned back just as Cordelia stumbled up from her chair; she'd heard the sound of its feet sliding across the floor. The brunette tried to run for the door, but her feet caught on the legs of the tipping chair.

Everything slowed down to half-speed as Willow watched. First, Cordelia's left foot hit the chair leg, then, as she tried to lift her right foot over, the toe caught behind her left calf. She toppled over, hands extending to catch her, but her hands were too far forward. They slid out in front of her, and Cordelia ended up sprawling full-length on the library floor.

The full import of Faith's words hit Giles a half-second after they rocked everyone else's world. He was still processing the information as Cordelia lurched up from her chair, tripped, and pitched forward onto her face. She scrambled to her feet, hair in disarray and blood trickling down her shin. She looked around the table, and Giles saw the other students blanch in the face of the anger and hurt that she projected. She turned to Xander. Her mouth worked, but no sound came out. Finally, a choked sob erupted from her throat, sounding as though it was being torn from her, and she fled the room.


	5. Chapter 5

They all looked at each other in every possible combination before Buffy turned to Xander. "You better-" She stopped. "Faith wasn't… You didn't…" Xander's hangdog look was more explanation than she needed. The Slayer shot out of her chair. "Xander, how could you be so stupid?"

As Buffy sprinted out of the library, Willow turned to Xander, a confused frown on her face. "You really slept with Faith?"

Xander tried to burrow into his chair. "I wouldn't exactly call it 'slept with'," he said.

"What would you call it?" Oz asked.

Xander unconsciously moved his shoulder and felt the twinge in his ribs. He felt rotten on the inside, rotten and abject and miserable. "I'd say I got ninja-humped," he said.

Buffy pushed through the library doors. Her head swivelled left, then right. She saw Faith shove open the exit door and walk into the bleached winter sunshine. Buffy ran down the hall, pounding feet echoing down the deserted hallway. She banged through the door and rushed pell-mell down the steps. Faith turned at the sound of Buffy's approach.

"Hey, B, you look a little winded." The dark Slayer stood with her back to the street.

Buffy stopped in front of Faith. The blond Slayer gasped, her head filled with too many thoughts for any of them to find their way out.

"What's the matter?" Faith said. "Cat got your tongue?"

Buffy's mouth opened and closed like a landed fish trying to grab a breath of precious air. Finally she blurted, "Why?"

Faith shrugged. "Why not?" Her posture and tone presented a lackadaisical front, but she couldn't hide the glittering spark in her eyes.

"Why not?" Buffy's arms spread wide. "In the middle of all this, you sleep with Xander?"

"Didn't sleep much."

"You didn't think it might be a bad idea? We might have more important things to think about?" Buffy's frustration boiled over. "If you had to get laid, couldn't you just pick up some guy at the Bronze?"

Faith's eyes narrowed. "You mean like I always do? 'Cause I'm a big whore?"

Buffy swallowed hard. "I did not say that. Don't put words in my mouth." She decided to try different approach. "Didn't you think about what this would do to us? To Cordelia?"

Faith laughed. "Since when do I give a shit about what Cordelia feels? It's time life went upside her head."

"What? That's- Faith you can't believe that. You're not that cold. You can't be that blind to what it would do to us."

"Come on, B." Faith raised her chin, defiant, then she grinned. "Besides, it's her loss. Xander was a regular crawling king snake."

Buffy put her hands over her ears. "I don't want to hear this."

"Hey, I'm serious. All that pent-up energy, all those years of wishing and hoping—I'm telling you, he was into it."

"Shut up!" Buffy's hand shot out, cracking across Faith's face in a stinging slap. The dark-haired girl stepped back, her face stiff with anger, but then her expression changed into a sly grin.

"See, that's how it is. You think you're better than me, but you still hit first when your buttons get pushed."

"I don't think I'm better than you," Buffy hissed through gritted teeth.

"Sure you do, with your blond mom and your house and your friends. I'm just gutter trash to you, someone for you to pity. You hate being the Slayer because it keeps you from being like all the other little white-bread Barbies. Well, I'm no Barbie, B. I'm street, and nobody gave a damn about me until Lindsay, and I watched her die while you held me back."

Buffy felt the world spinning wildly around her. The roar of the traffic in the street seemed to increase tenfold. A cold dread filled her stomach; she tasted bile. "It wasn't an accident, was it? You didn't lose control. You knew what you were doing. You... you wanted this? Because of what happened to Lindsay? Faith, you... I... What were you trying to do, punish me? Us?" Buffy closed her eyes. "You can't believe... Faith, you can't do this. You can't strike out at everyone. I'm not... we're not the enemy. Trick is."

Faith's eyes smoldered. "I'll take care of that sonofabitch face-to-face."

Buffy stretched her hand out toward the dark Slayer. "And I'll help you. We all will. Just come back inside with me. We'll work this out."

Tears spilled from Faith's eyes and tracked down her cheeks. "Will you bring Lindsay back? Can you work that out? Can you make that right?"

"Stop it!" Buffy screamed. "Stop it! Don't you see? I'm not your enemy. Faith... we can do this. I've failed miserably. I've failed everyone. I've failed you. I know that, believe me. It makes me want to throw up every time I think about what happened, but it wasn't me. It was Trick." Buffy took a deep breath. "And that's why we need you. I can't face Trick alone. I need you, Faith. We need you."

Faith's entire body quivered. For a heartbeat, everything hung in the balance, suspended on a knife-edge. Then Faith took a step back, breathing hard. "Yeah, you need me. Because you can't face Trick alone. You can't face him at all. You're his little bitch." The last two words were spoken with such terrible contempt and spite that Buffy felt them as a physical slap. Faith whirled and sprinted down the sidewalk. Buffy stood there, dazed, her hand outstretched as the brunette girl disappeared into the distance, the sound of her running feet swallowed by the noise of the cars on the street.

The dispirited remnants of the Scooby Gang looked up as Buffy shuffled through the library door. Xander slumped over the table, head down on his folded arms. Willow and Oz stood on either side of him, their faces etched with concern and confusion. Buffy took two steps into the room. Xander's head came up; his gaze was first hopeful, then sad. A bright, hot spark flared in the Slayer's head when her eyes met his. Her hands balled into fists as she began to stalk across the room.

"What were you thinking?" she hissed.

Xander shrugged. "I would say that I wasn't."

"Don't," Buffy warned, her voice rising in pitch. "Don't try to be funny." She advanced quickly, eyes flashing. Giles rose quickly from his chair and intercepted her, catching the Slayer by the arms and turning her momentum toward his office. As he hustled her inside, the Watcher closed the door and spun the girl to face him.

"What were you going to do?" he demanded.

"Giles, he... he..." Buffy's face crumpled and she began to sob. "I screwed up. I screwed up so bad. I thought I messed up last year, but now... I should have never come back." Her anguish was too much; she began to fall, and would have but for her Watcher. Giles caught her and pulled her to him. Buffy buried her face in his sweater and wept the tears of the broken-hearted.

Willow bit her lip and looked as Oz. "What do we do?" she asked.

Oz shook his head, never looking away from the office door. "I don't think there's anything we can do," he said as the muffled howling continued.

Xander stood up, an awkward, jerky motion. "I can," he said.

"Shouldn't we stop him?" Willow said as the doors closed behind her longtime friend.

Oz shook his head. "No. Whatever he's doing, it's his thing."

Othniel Hampton stared at the window, watching the light fade, the glow becoming diffuse, the rectangle of illumination on the floor growing darker and more elongated. The catwalk trembled beneath his feet, betraying another presence. He turned.

"We let him go like you said to," Coyne said.

"That was good," Hampton said.

"I'm not being nosy, sir, but who was he?" Coyne was already taking a step back in case his question ignited the Reverend's temper. "I'm sure he wasn't human."

"No, he was not. Nothing so small and insipid as a human." Hampton leaned forward, his hands on the railing. "He was our deliverance." He straightened and turned to his henchman. "We always receive what we need, if we are patient, Coyne. Why do I always forget that? Why must I always be reminded?" He laid a hand on Coyne's shoulder. "Vanity, that is why. It is when I forget that I am an instrument, when I believe that I am the actor, that I am following my plan, that is when I go astray, and then I must be chastened."


	6. Chapter 6

The red Sebring came to a jerky stop at the intersection. It waited a moment, then fishtailed slightly as the driver stepped too hard on the accelerator. The tires finally bit into the asphalt and the car shot away.

Cordelia rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her right hand. She grimaced in disgust as she saw it come away black. She hazarded a quick glance in the mirror. Her face was a mask of tears and running mascara.

She was driving too fast as she approached the driveway and she braked hard, the Sebring pitching forward, nose-down. She twisted the wheel, the power steering whining in protest as she wrenched the car into the drive. Sobbing, vision blurry with tears, Cordelia took great care to slow down. She punched the button on the garage-door opener and came to a stop as the door crept up.

The Jag was gone (of course), but the new Lexus RX 300 her mom had gotten for Christmas was in the garage. Cordelia maneuvered the Sebring into place; as she turned off the engine she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

The sight was shocking—Cordelia Chase, queen of Sunnydale High, her face covered in tears, mascara, and snot, her hair an undone mess. A bruise appeared to be forming on her chin where she'd landed on the library floor. She looked down. The cut on her leg had scabbed over and tracks of dried blood disappeared into her shoe.

She got out of the car and limped to the door. It opened into a small hallway leading to the mud room. Cordelia stifled her crying and listened. She heard nothing. Her hand turned the knob as slowly as possible and she looked in. No one in the office just to the left, but that was no surprise. She crept down the hall and turned into the mud room. The breakfast room was straight ahead, the stairs to the second floor on her right. No one in sight. Snuffling quietly, she put her foot on the stairs. She was just about to go up when she heard movement. Steps, muffled by the thick plush carpet, moving from the great room into the kitchen. Cordelia flattened herself against the wall and held her breath. Steps louder as they crossed onto the tiled floor of the kitchen. Cabinet doors opened and closed, the soft pneumatic hiss of the Sub-Zero refrigerator being breached, sounds in the kitchen, then the steps moving away, back onto the carpet. As the sounds receded back to the great room, Cordelia crept up the stairs.

Faith finished jamming her clothing into the bag and zipped it closed in one furious motion. She slipped the carry strap over her shoulder and stepped to the door. She turned and looked back, hand on the light switch. As she glanced around the room, her eyes fell on another bag, stuffed under the bed. Lindsay's bag. A sharp, stabbing pain lanced through Faith's chest and her eyes filled with tears. She stumbled across the room and pulled the bag from under the bed. It was unzipped and various items of clothing spilled out of the opening. Faith's hand reached down and touched a black sweater. The dark Slayer brought it to her face. It still smelled of Lindsay. Blinded by her tears, Faith fumbled to open her bag, then stuffed the sweater inside. She picked up the bag and returned to the door. She looked around the room again. Her eyes saw it for the shabby, low-rent accommodation it was, but her breaking heart saw the only place where she had ever felt like there was a chance for... for _anything_. She turned and wrenched the door open with enough force to yank the screws of the top hinge free of the frame. Stepping onto the cracked concrete step, she headed toward the dumpster. As she passed it, she tossed the second bag in. It was as close to a burial as she could give Lindsay; the pervert motel manager wouldn't be able to sell the dead Watcher's clothing to pay any bills. Faith stood by the dumpster for a moment, her hand resting on the cold steel. She bowed her head.

"Good-bye, Lindsay," she whispered. She straightened and looked around, one last look at Sunnydale. "Good-bye," she said in a stronger voice. "Good-bye and go to hell." She walked away into the night, turning up the collar of her jacket.

Xander stood in the parking lot of the ValleyView and looked at the door of Number 6 hanging from its lower hinges. It was pretty obvious that Faith was gone. He turned a complete circle, looking for some sign of what he should do next.

For a brief, mad moment he had considered going out to Cordelia's house, but sanity reasserted itself. He'd called about twenty times already but, surprise surprise, she wasn't picking up. He didn't know what he'd say if she answered. There wasn't much gray area here; he was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. After all he'd said about being there for Cordelia, about being supportive, he'd dropped his pants and done the dance the first time Faith winked at him. He, Alexander Lavelle Harris, was beneath contempt. Contempt would have to dig down several feet to find him.

Where could Faith be? Pretty obviously she had checked out of the ValleyView for the last time. Xander ran through a mental checklist. Airport didn't seem likely—plane tickets cost money and he hadn't seen much evidence of Faith possessing any. Ditto the bus—cheaper, but still requiring currency. Faith didn't seem like the kind of person to stow away on a ship so that left—

"Train," he whispered, but where would she try to catch one? Two possibilities presented themselves—either down by the port, or at the downtown terminal. The downtown terminal was closer. Xander thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket and headed that way, past the dumpster and out into the darkening evening.

Willow and Oz sat on the sofa in the Rosenberg living room. The TV was dark, no music played on the stereo, no lights were on. They sat side by side, held hands, and watched the shadows of night creep in through the window.

"What's going to happen?" Willow asked.

Oz shrugged. "Don't know. We did what Giles asked. I don't know what else we could do."

"But shouldn't we do something?"

Oz shook his head. "We got Buffy to her mom."

"And so now we sit and wait?" Willow fretted.

"There's been enough damage for one day." Oz put his arm around Willow. "Let's not make it worse by thrashing around."

Joyce Summers sat on the edge of her daughter's bed. Buffy had cried herself to sleep, just as a baby would. Joyce had held her close, feeling the Slayer's slight frame shaking with sobs until, exhausted beyond even her formidable strength, Buffy had collapsed into slumber. Joyce reached out and touched her daughter's hand. That hand, the nails tipped in pink polish, seemed far too fragile to belong to a girl called to save the world. Willow and Oz's hasty explanation of the problem, delivered as they half-carried a sobbing Buffy into the living room, hadn't been exceptionally clear, but Joyce had garnered the gist of it. She covered her mouth with a hand, stifling hysterical laughter. Teenagers! Even with the fate of the world at stake, sex was still the biggest land mine. The inappropriate laugh turned to a long, shaking sigh. As the evening breeze picked up, Joyce brushed the hair from the Slayer's forehead and watched her daughter, her only child.

As the last light faded and the room passed into the final purple stages of twilight, Cordelia pulled herself up from her bed. She stumbled into her bathroom, ran warm water in the sink, and took a hand towel from the cabinet. She scrubbed her face hard, scraping away makeup and dried tears, turning the water murky and gray. She finally looked up at the mirror. Her skin looked pale and raw, her eyes red and swollen. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and crept back to her bedroom. She changed into flannel pajama pants, navy blue scattered with small triangles of orange and yellow, and a white T-shirt. She took a fresh pillowcase from the closet shelf and put the soiled case, damp from tears and stiff with mascara and… other substances, into the laundry hamper. Her tired, aching body longed to slip beneath the covers, but she knew she had to do one more thing. Choking back fresh tears that threatened to burst forth, Cordelia started down the shadowy, winding main staircase. The house might be dark, but she knew it wasn't empty.

Mr. Quisling left the restaurant and paused on the sidewalk, checking the weather. The wind had picked up. He buttoned his cashmere overcoat against it and turned left. His car was in the restaurant's lot, beside the building. He turned left again at the corner. As he stepped out of the streetlight's pool of illumination into the dark, a chill raced through him. Annoyed, he shook his head as he unlocked the door of his car and climbed in.

He locked the doors and turned the key. Nothing happened. He frowned and tried again. Nothing.

He turned toward a rapping sound at the window. A man stood there, a length of twisted wires in his hand. Three pieces of information arrived at Quisling's brain almost immediately.

First, those wires were from his car's ignition system, thus his inability to move.

Second, the "man" in question was not a man, but a vampire dressed in rough, mismatched clothing.

Third, he was in a great deal of trouble.

The third fact was verified as the passenger window exploded inward and he was dragged from the car.

Florestan waited patiently. A few minutes on hold meant little to one who had lived for centuries already and would live for centuries more. The line clicked in his ear.

"Yes," he said. "I don't want to waste any of your time, so I'll get right to the point. I have been reviewing your contract. I keep coming back to one particular clause. It states, and I'm quoting here, 'The object or objects shall be delivered in the best and/or most useable condition possible.'"

He waited for a moment, listening. "Yes, well, it's our contention that until we have an thorough understanding of any rituals, sacraments, ceremonies, or rites connected with the item, the contract is not fulfilled. And you know what happens to those in our line of work who don't honor contracts."

He hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair. "Belt and suspenders," he said.

Faith felt the gravel crunch underneath her shoes as she shifted her weight. The wind was whipping pretty good, and she turned up her collar and hunched her shoulders inside her jacket. The motion caused the duffel bag to thump against her thigh. She pulled her wind-blown hair from her face and tucked it up under the watch cap. She looked down the tracks and when she looked back he was standing across the tracks. He looked terrible, hunched inside that corduroy jacket, his face pale in the darkness.

"Hey, Xander," Faith said. "What's up? Ooh, sorry."

"Hilarious. You're a regular Carrot Top."

"Sticks and stones, Xan. Sticks and stones."

Xander stepped carefully over the tracks and stopped a few feet away from her. "Yeah, but words really hurt this time, didn't they?"

Faith shrugged. "Only 'cause they were true."

Xander bit his lip and kicked at the gravel. "That was really lousy, Faith."

Faith's grin mocked him. "I didn't cheat on anybody."

He nodded. "I get it. I'm scum. I'm what scum scrapes off its shoe. Scum looks at me and says 'Hey, I'm not that guy.' All true. I'm a jackass. But Cordelia didn't deserve that."

"Cordelia ought to thank me. I just showed her that her boyfriend couldn't be trusted." Faith cocked her head. "Besides, where was all this concern for Cordy last night?" Xander ducked his head. Faith leaned forward. "You weren't thinking of her while I was, uh, mmmmm, were you?"

Xander looked stricken. "That's low."

"I call bullshit." Faith's voice was hard and flat. "I don't think she ever crossed your mind while you were taking off your pants." Faith smiled at him. "Hey, don't be so hard on yourself. You were pretty good. It's Cordelia's loss. Who knows, maybe last night wasn't a one-time thing." She laughed again as Xander gaped. "You want that, don't you? All your concern and guilt, it's just a sham. You want a little more, you just don't want anyone else to think you're a skank for gettin' it." Faith laughed as the wind tore through her hair. "You're pathetic."

"You're right, I am. I betrayed someone who trusted me, just like you."

"Me?" Faith's anger flared.

"Yeah, you. Cordelia trusted me and I... I failed her. But at least I can say it was a moment of weakness. You, you did this on purpose, and you did it to Buffy, and to all of us. We trusted you-"

"Fuck you!" Faith screamed. "Why is it all about you? You're all so selfish. 'Oh, Faith, you were so meeeeaaaannnn to us.' Buncha babies, you make me puke."

"You could have been—you were one of us. You still could be. They are good people, and you know how I know? Because as bad as I've been, as terrible as what I did was, they will still be my friends. I failed, but we've all failed, and gotten past it. Buffy knows. She's done it before. When she thought the Master might be resurrected, last summer… Willow, Willow fell in love with a demon on the Internet. We've been there. I know you're hurting since Lindsay—"

"Don't you say her name!" Faith bawled at the top of her lungs. "Don't you ever say her name!" She swung the duffel bag at him. It was too large and clumsy for the blow to do much damage, but it knocked him off-balance. She dropped the bag and began to rain blows on his head and shoulders. Xander ducked and covered as much as possible. The blows hurt, a lot. He stumbled backward and fell.

Faith stood over him, panting. The cap had been knocked from her head and her hair blew wild and free. Xander scrambled back crabwise.

The train whistle blew.

Faith turned. The light cut through the darkness, two hundred yards down the track. It was slow, gathering speed after passing through the terminal yard. Faith kicked gravel at the cowering Xander, then grabbed the bag and began to run toward the tracks. Xander got to his feet and hurried after her. Faith drew even with the train, Xander pounding after her. The Slayer grabbed the rungs of the ladder, duffel bag bouncing off her hip. Xander strained to catch her. She took three long strides and swung her feet up onto the ladder.

Xander grabbed the duffel bag. He barely kept his feet. "Faith," he screamed. "Don't."

"Let go!" she yelled and yanked the bag from his hands. Xander stumbled, lurching forward and to his left. Toward the train. He threw up his hands as he fell toward the flashing wheels.

The front corner of the trailing car caught him in the back. His head snapped back, searing pain filling his skull. He whirled away, felt his right arm strike the side of the car and knew, in an oddly detached way, that his forearm was shattered. He bounced away from the boxcar and landed on his left foot. The leg folded, breaking like the stem of a crystal goblet. He flopped to the ground, the pain so intense that his nervous system could no longer process it. Blackness rolled over him in a wave.

Faith hung on the ladder. Xander's body was soon swallowed up in the darkness and she was alone. Gone. Gone from Sunnydale.

End of "Tore Down House."


End file.
